Silence
by Ophelia's Rosemary
Summary: Snippets across time of a relationship that seems to crumble everytime they meet. Edelweiss, mature rating in later chapters.


Silence

* * *

A Kiss Before the Storm

* * *

The first time they kissed it had been during a blizzard. It hadn't been a real kiss to Basche because they were barely five in nation-years and Roderich hadn't turned fifty in human ones yet. The snow and the window pounded on the flimsy wooden barn Switzerland and Austria were camped out in, threatening to get in and freeze the two children to death. Basch remembers Roderich sniveling about how dark and frightening it was, and the feeling of the brunette's hands clamp around his arm. The other's hands were surprisingly warm and the feeling of heat soon spread through his body.

"How long is this one going to last? I'm scared, Basch." Roderich's chubby cheeks had hardly been visible when he spoke this. He was rounder then, not slender like now, or even scrawny like few people knew Roderich truly was in the present. Switzerland remembers Ostmark being a whiny, fearful and slightly morose little kid. Not completely incapable, as he could navigate his way through the wild without help, but there was something different about him. He was just a tiny march, the eastern part of the Holy Roman Empire, just a way to protect the Empire from the Magyars and he was failing miserably.

"Quiet down, and quit whining. You're a soldier." answered Basch, his tone stern and a little angry. Why couldn't Roderich be brave for once?

Roderich just held on tighter, sharing warmth with the other. The blonde nation drew him closer, heaving out a cold breathe. A cow in another part of the barn groaned. Roderich closed his eyes and rested his head on his friend's shoulder. Basch shook his head in frustration.

"Don't fall asleep! Keep awake."

"B-but it's so cold, Schweiz."

"Exactly."

"You're so harsh sometimes."

Basch supposed it couldn't be helped. Roderich was born for war, born in a successful raid over the Magyars. What did he suppose, being born so soft and yet being the one thing standing between those barbarians and the German people? Magyar wouldn't stop shooting his arrows into his back, no; the fierce green-eyed barbarian would probably kick Roderich while he was down too. (Years later, somewhere in the late 19th century, Basch encountered the barbarian again in a dress and a ring on her finger. And a Roderich holding her hand and giving her glances as if she was the reason why the sun rose. Instead of arrows, Hungary shot Roderich loving looks and brief kisses when they thought no one was around to see them.)

A few strands of Basch's golden hair found their way around Roderich's chubby fingers. Sleepily orchid eyes focused on the hair. Basch didn't understand why Roderich's fingers found their way to people's hair so often. It could be his Vater's hair strung around those digits, or it could be Bayern's short dark blonde hair. The twiddling was a bit of a childish fixation, like thumb sucking or dragging a piece of cloth everywhere for comfort. But the blonde nation couldn't help feel that it perhaps was better that his eastern neighbor's odd habits manifested themselves in a fascination with hair rather than something embarrassing like wetting himself in his sleep (which Roderich had done for a few years after forming).

Basch's split ends barely shined in the darkness of the barn. The blizzard was unrelenting, beating against the wood, straw, and mud that it was made of. Austria tightened his hold on the other boy in fear, further spreading the fuzzy feeling that the two had seemed to create from sharing body heat. It was getting for Basch to fight off sleep as well, and he usually had blizzards worse than this in his own lands. His pale lashes fluttered as his eyelids closed from fatigue rapidly. His mind almost careened into the welcoming land of sleep before Roderich shifted in his grasp. Basch snapped out of it and glared at him.

"Don't fall asleep." he ordered curtly.

"You were about to, not I, meine freunde." With a brother like Bayern and a friend like Basch, it was no wonder Roderich was born to give tongue-lashings.

"Quiet." Basch's face was read from Roderich having caught his slip up. Roderich gave a rare giggle from those usually morose and frowning lips, that little curl on his head moving along with the laughter like some sort of tail. The elder of the two felt the urge to tug on it and cause his friend discomfort for that laugh and expressed it through a silencing stare.

"Do not be cross with me, Basch. I know I am safe with you." The hair twirling resumed as Roderich looked up into his friend's eyes. Basch remembers seeing such lovely eyes, like violets, framed by a fringe of black lashes. The blizzard seemed to disappear from moment as time seemed to still for the Alpine nation. It wasn't the wind pounding on their shelter; it was his heart keeping out a rhythm in his chest. It thrummed loudly as he realized how close he and his friend were to each other.

They were children, of course. Immortal children with large vocabularies and a very good consciousness about them and the word, but there was something still child-like about them. They were nations, but they fought wars because of orders and being born to fight them, not because of opinions on the matter.

Roderich would recall his father, Germania, once saying that as spirits, they depended on man and were made in man's image, despite outliving them. _"But then are we caricatures of humans, or actually humans? I feel…human, if that's what it can be called." asked Roderich when he was old enough to frame such thoughts. Basch shrugged, not knowing the answer._ Perhaps a God had shaped him out snow and mud and blood of his people, tying him to them. Before that night in the barn there had never been a question of whether he could feel like a human, or feel what a human does. Nations had family bonds, friendship bonds, but he never wondered if they were exactly like what the human created. Love had never occurred to him. Basch saw it, of course, in his own people. He could feel the stirrings of his own people. But it was never his own love.

That night in the barn Basch asked the world if they, as people, could really love. He asked that question by leaning forward naturally, as he had seen the human adults do, and planting his lips on Roderich's. Roderich's lips were dry and slightly chapped from the cold, much like his own. Ostmark didn't move himself back or forward, just keeping himself still in the kiss.

Roderich didn't find it uncomfortable. The idea of two lips meeting provided the same comfort that keep his finger's entwined in another's did. A balmy content feeling spread through the young boys as they pulled their lips away. There were no feelings of guilt or shame.

"That felt nice. Is that a kiss?"

"I..I think so."

"But only people who love each other kiss. Do we love each other, Basch?"

Switzerland's cheeks were red with embarrassment and frustration and he kept silent.

"But people in love live together happily and have families and go on adventures!"

"If you spent so much time on your swordsmanship as you did on thinking about fairytale nonsense, I wouldn't have to keep saving your butt from Magyar."

Roderich gave him another rare smile with his primary teeth showing and suddenly Basch felt as if he would never be cold again.

* * *

**Rome, 1523**

* * *

"Rome is as beautiful as always." A few strings in High German float across the fountain's waters, floating away from their Austrian master. A hand gloved in fine leather splayed itself on the fountain built for his holiness Innocent VII, who Roderich could have sworn had been alive so recently. How quickly a quarter of a century passes by.

The dark-haired man's nostrils flared as he breathed in deeply, taking in the feel of Saint Peter's Square, making sense of the cacophony around him. This was young Lovino's and Vatican's domain, sure, but he could feel the power and strength of a man long dead filter through everything. It was the feeling that reminded Roderich that yes, it was here, here lies the Roman Empire and he could almost taste the power that resounded through the name.

No longer would he have that same thirst. He wasn't a child playing hide-and-seek in the Alps anymore, nor was he crying to his less powerful brother about those arrows the now weak Ungarn had shot at him.

Today Austria had built an empire that the sun never set on. The air tasted much sweeter and the sky seemed brighter because Roderich woke up knowing that the sun would never set on him. There was doubt in his mind, after all, everyone fell eventually, but Roderich had a comfortable throne to look down on everyone from and he didn't intend to leave that seat. Verdammt, he was even sharing it so he could never let it go. Let Antonio conquer the world; he intended to rule it.

His ornate wedding band felt so heavy on his finger compared to how light his heart was feeling. After so many years of work, of needless war, Roderich actually felt that once more he could be truly safe in his own space. There was no shame about being once more dependent on another for his pedestal. Only buffoons refused such advantages. Roderich would rather share ambrosia then not have it at all.

"Austria."

His fine clothing twirled with him as he spun around to face the Vatican, exchanging his gleeful face for his customary austere one. Vatican had been quiet the whole time he had met with the Pope, staring off into space. Of course with everything going on to the north and west of Roderich, Vatican couldn't help but be troubled.

"There are numerous stirrings across German lands, but I bid you not to worry. The rest of the HRE has no intention of breaking with Rome. "

Vatican shook his head, always curiously full of grey hair. "These reformers aren't something we will extinguish soon. Even here in Rome I see their devilish papers, and followers spreading Luther or Zwingli. A man even insulted his Holiness last week, though we quickly dealt with him. Both of these men are in your backyard, Austria, you and the other Germans should stop them out now. Frederick is threatening to break from the church and I see it you and your lot are still not doing anything about those revolts in the Rhine." His hands were fisted and each word came out like a barking order.

"You know my rulers always have the True Faith in their minds and hearts. I cannot deal with Zwingli, he is not one of mine and you are well aware of what I think of that little motley patch of mountains and death. Sickingen and those with him at Trier were defeated. We use force if we must." Roderich's eyes drift to one of them, in their mercenary uniforms and halberds glinting, parading themselves around the square and basilica. Roderich felt his heart tighten, though he couldn't tell whether it was in revulsion or heartbreak.

Vatican nodded, eyes following the Swiss Mercenaries around with him. Roderich knew very well the feel of one of those halberds. The man he called his friend once had plunged one through his chest after all. Perhaps that is why Roderich felt such revulsion when hearing the name Zwingli spoken. Another Zwingli had killed him. This priest, who had studied and broken bread with Roderich's people, was just another man from that area which his royalty still tried to claim back.

"Basch was quite silent on the matter when I talked to him an hour ago."

Roderich's eyes widened. He was near, that Brutus? Ever since that battle in Morgarten Austria had tried his best to avoid any close contact with the other nation. His glimpses of Basch Zwingli had been from across battlefields and instances when they had to be in a large room together. Even then Roderich wouldn't look at him. Until their so called Confederacy was back under the guiding hand of H.R.E. Roderich wouldn't acknowledge them.

Another glance at the mercenary to the right. It was only the uniform that marked them as formidable, thought Roderich. And even it looked worn. There was a wild and fierce look on that Swiss face, but an air of wretchedness hung about every single one of them. Roderich could even admit that it gave him comfort, the fact that despite the battles he had lost to them, the Swiss returned to their freezing cold and barren fields, while Roderich rolled around in his finery. He had always told Basch he was going to be a great nation one day. The fool never believed him and the moment he had finally started going in the right direction, Basch had to accuse him of taking advantage of him, his people, of oppressing them.

"Austria?"

"W-was?" Vatican talking startled Roderich out of his inner gloating.

"I said that he's leaving soon so you don't have to worry about anything. We don't need any confrontations."

Roderich raised an eyebrow at that and placed a hand on his hip to show how irate he was at that suggestion.

"I cannot speak for him, but you surely don't expect anything but cordial behavior from me, do you not? I'm not Prussen." The Austrian nation said snippily, his nose crinkling as usual when the Teutonic Order was brought up. Vatican frowned at the mention of the Order as well. That Northern relation of Roderich's was in peril as well. Austria bowed his head low on the ground and then crossed himself.

"Till our next meeting, Austria. My salutations to Spain." Vatican finished the conversation with a flourish of his white robes and a brisk pace back to Saint Peter's Basilica. Roderich almost smiled about how the nation who seemed to so elderly could be so spry in his movements.

* * *

A few minutes later found Roderich climbing a set of stairs to his room while he stayed in Rome for business. The rickety wood creaked more than usual and Roderich could see that there was another on top of the stairs. As the other man, a Swiss mercenary by dress, started to walk down, Roderich stopped. A feeling of nostalgia and familiarity washed over him as his sense recognized who exactly was climbing down. The soldier stopped as well as he saw that it was Roderich a few feet away from him.

Grass green met the purple found in rare flowers and in the sky right before the dawn. Basch stared down at Roderich with a shocked look on his face while Roderich managed to keep the anger he felt behind his mask. The Austrian could feel the other's eyes searching his body and clothes, possibly noting how armed the other was and how much healthier he looked as opposed to Basch. They stood like that for a minute or two, trapped in motion and in their own memories of each other.

Roderich thought of the last time Basch was above him, halberd gripped tight and hatred in his eyes. Puberty had barely struck Roderich, but he still cried in front of his enemy. That seemed to infuriate his friend more. Perhaps Basch would get so mad he'd put away the weapon and start yelling at Roderich about how crying in front of someone who could kill you was so stupid and so cowardly, and gut Gott, didn't Roderich know anything? But the rivers of tears flowing down didn't make the Swiss lower his weapon or make his soldier stop killing Roderich's people. It had been a catastrophe, Morgarten. Almost ten thousand man defeated by one thousand peasants and farmers.

Roderich wanted to say something, anything to the other man. He wanted to tell him that he tried to spend as little time in his own Alps because of him, because they ran around them getting into trouble. Roderich wanted to tell him about his wedding day, and how he felt so odd with Antonio, because Antonio wasn't what he'd dreamt about when he was barely a duchy. But most of all, Roderich wanted Basch to know that he hated himself every time he drank imported spice wine and gloated about the fact that Basch probably existed on milk and stale bread.

"Osterreich." Basch was straight to the point as he had always been.

"Uri."

Basch made the first move, taking a few steps down. As he got closer to Roderich, the latter noticed that two hundred years avoiding the other hadn't informed them of the height difference. Roderich wasn't extremely tall, but something felt good about knowing that on even ground he could stare down at the other, even though physically he was outclassed. Then a small, petty idea had flashed into Roderich's mind. The heavy golden ring that Spain brought over to Roderich from the New World slipped from being on his finger to being on his already sweating hand. The younger continued walking up as Basch passed him to go down, and only after a few more steps did he release the ring down.

The large ring tinkled down the stairs, bouncing in a pretty burst of shining gold down the wooden steps. Basch had stopped to watch it tumble down the stairs as soon as it dropped and Roderich feigned a surprised look on his face as he pivoted to watch it fall.

"Oh, my ring!"

Basch bent down to pick it up, holding the ring with his thumb and index fingers. Roderich could see the frown deepen on the other's face and something in heart smiled at that sight. Roderich's new lifestyle, his ring, and his clothes were everything Basch had hated. Though Roderich was still personally frugal by nature, it was expected of him to be finely dressed and of him to showcase it. The ring twirled in Switzerland's fingers once more before it was lifted up for Roderich to take it back. Roderich bent down and grabbed it, turning around again.

It was silent again and Basch hadn't moved for some reason. Roderich wondered if Basch would gut him for that moment of pure impudence a minute ago before his former friend's stern voice echoed through the staircase once more.

"What a pretty trinket. It is wasted on its wearer, a perpetually insignificant whore thrown by his royals in every lap that may feed it."

Roderich stamped his foot loudly and stomped his way down.

"You dare," he snarled, "even say something to me, you wretch, you thrice-damned peasant?"

"What a tone, Osterreici! I assume that having nothing to do but lay down for Spain has made you very comfortable. I'd suggest actually visiting a battlefield, maybe you can actually win a battle against me and mine." And Basch left Roderich fuming in the staircase realizing that the despite all the gold he had on himself, the brightest thing in the staircase had been his former friend's hair.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Hi there! My name is Rina and this is the first chapter of Silence. For those of you who are waiting for another chapter of Top of the Hill, it'll be out in the middle of December, I promise. This story is going to be much shorter, and will either have one or two chapters added. I changed my writing style a little bit for this and I seem to like it so far. I've always really wanted to write historical fan fiction between these two for a while.

As of the second part of the story, Roderich and Basch look the age they do in Chibitalia. Roderich's very much a prick at this time, and well, throughout most of his history. I love writing him in this kind of light. Basch isn't the Neutral nation we see in the present day, in fact, his Confederacy is still barely together. That's going to change very soon.

Here are some notes for those who want to know what's going on:

**Ostmark/Osterreichi:** The first names Austria went by. Austria was originally a march, a small military encampment on the border that was made by the HRE after around a century of work to repel the Magyars. They finally did this in the mid-900s and it was named Ostmark. The first rulers of this small plot of land were named the Babenburgs, nobles of Bavaria, who actually established Austria. That is why I go under the assumption that Bavaria is Austria's brother, besides their also difficult relationship.

**Uri:** It's pretty hard working with Switzerland because you have no idea what he originally was. It'd be easier if we knew he was like HRE, a loose collection of states, but the Cantons didn't have that back when he was shown with Aus. Thus, he's the Canton of Uri, or Schwyz, or what used to be Unterwalden, the three original Swiss Confederate cantons, which were all Swiss German at that time. Hetalia gets so confusing sometimes. I chose Uri because that's where shit went down first with Aus.

**Vatican:** Canon character who looks pretty old. I imagine his as a very pious but not a mean person. I think he'd be troubled himself about what's going on in his domain. (The second part is taking place in the early 1520s, and well, the Protestant Reformation has begun and is becoming very hard to deal with it. But as well as the corruption that occurred in the Vatican in the last century.)

**Martin Luther:** A monk and priest who started the ninety-five theses to the door of a church in protest of how the Vatican was demanding that people buy indulgences, which absolved of sin for some time, and that confessing did nothing. He was excommunicated in 1520 and in the 1525 would be instrumental in forming the Duchy of Prussia, the first Protestant kingdom. He'd be in Saxony at the moment.

**Sickingen:** Knight who led a bunch on knights on a revolt against the Church and the city of Trier. He was a follower of Luther.

**Ulrich Zwingli:** Pastor from one of the Swiss cantons. Started the Reformation around the same time Luther did and was the leader of the Swiss reformation.

That's all for now. I'm going to skip ahead in the next chapter to the Seven Year's War. There might be something...heavy rated in the next chapter.


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